A Noble Deception

A Noble Deception proved to be anything but just another historical romance. It’s fun, with characters you can’t help but love, none of the usual cliché dangers, and just the right amount of romance.

—Ysar of Fic Central Book Blog

THE ONLY THING MORE DANGEROUS

THAN A LIE IS LOVE

Scotland 1455 – The Douglas clan is at war with their king. To protect his lands from confiscation, Lord John Douglas, the dying Earl of Kildrummond, must find an heir that doesn’t carry his name.

A landless knight, Lachlan Ramsay expects no more of life than battles, blood, and the occasional warm bosom. But when Lord John makes him his heir, Lachlan has a chance at something he never dreamt of—a home. There’s just one condition: He must marry the earl’s bastard daughter, the fiery, eccentric Moira MacInnes.

Lachlan has no desire for a headstrong, sharp-tongued wife. Moira has no need for an arrogant, too-handsome husband. To save Kildrummond they will marry and seek an annulment immediately upon the earl’s death. But deception is never simple, and passion once inflamed is impossible to ignore. Soon they will no longer be deceiving the earl but themselves.

A NOBLE DECEPTION

Veronica Bale

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

A NOBLE DECEPTION

Copyright © 2015 Katherine Ellyse LeGrand

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-942886-80-8

To my Christopher. You inspire me every day, wee man.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to express my thanks to many people who made this book possible.

To the team at Boroughs Publishing Group: My sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done to make my book possible. A special thanks to Jenni Hendriks, my amazing editor. Your expertise has been invaluable, and your commitment to, and enthusiasm for, my story is deeply appreciated.

To my family and friends: Thank you, every single one of you. Your support has meant the world to me. To my husband, Jeff, and my son, Christopher: My book would not exist if it wasn’t for the both of you rooting me on…and more-than-occasionally picking up the slack at home when I’m in my Can’t talk; writing mode.

And finally to my readers. You mean more to me than words can express. My gratitude to you all is boundless.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

A Noble Treason

A Note from the Author

About the Author

A Noble Deception

Prologue

A sudden, stiff breeze, heavy with the scent of summer heather, careened over the hills. For a brief instant it lifted the dragonfly caught in its wake higher; when it passed, the creature touched down on the leaf of a young fern, bravely poking its feathery head through a tangle of scrub. The dragonfly’s wings vibrated once, then twice, then stilled.

Behind the fern at an unobtrusive distance, a pair of blue eyes, round with fascination, fixed on the creature. Slowly, ever so slowly so that she wouldn’t disturb it, Moira raised her disheveled head. Her heart thrummed excitedly within her tiny chest as she crawled towards the fern, on hands and knees that were scuffed and scabbed from play.

She moved with patience (oh, she was ever so patient), creeping into prime pouncing position like a cat, graceful and deadly. Another ell more—only the distance from elbow to fingertips—and she’d have the wee mite.

Slowly. Slowly. Almost there…

A sharp throb in her bladder made Moira clench her small thighs. Oh no…she had to pish-pish. Reacting instantly, she bounced up and down, which rustled the heather around her.

As quick as a wink the dragonfly lifted itself into the air and flew away to safety.

Fie! she cursed.

Shoving herself out of her crouch, she stomped her foot with all the fury that a lass of four years could. Then she batted the wrinkles from her freshly washed leine of homespun wool.

Double fie! She’d smudged the garment with grass and dirt.

Mama had insisted so strongly that she stay tidy. What would their visitor think if he saw her this way? He’d come to see a fine young lady; instead he would be greeted by a filthy, rumpled faerie.

Mama would be so cross, but Moira simply hadn’t been able to help herself. The urge to explore the hidden, magical places of her new home had been too acute to ignore. Why, there were caves and braes, foxholes and burrows.

And hills, oh, the hills! Emerald and violet, hills as far as the eye could see and not a soul within miles. Their old borderland village had been nothing like this.

As if instinctively sensing her daughter’s disobedience, Moira’s mother called to her. Moira, ye’ll come in now. Our visitor is here.

There was no help for it. Her mother would see her soiled leine. She would see her tangled hair. She would punish Moira. No cakes for a fortnight; never again to the glen; no more wonderful—

Her bladder convulsed again. Moira ran the short distance to the hut, praying that her pish-pish would stay up there just a wee bit longer. She’d meet the gentleman quickly, and then she could run for a tiddle.

Her mother greeted her at the doorway. Her long, fawn-colored hair was bound in a simple plait and draped over her shoulder. She was clad in her best gown—though with only two gowns to speak of it meant her mother wore the one without the tear at the sleeve. Still, Moira had never seen her so beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with a radiant, inner light.

Och, lass, what have ye done to yerself? the lady chided as Moira sauntered into the one-room hut, their home of a little more than a sennight.

Moira trotted over the threshold, her hands clasped to her belly to keep the pish-pish in its place. She opened her mouth to tell her mother that she needed to go wee, but the sight of the gentleman standing in the middle of the hut brought her to a halt.

He was a man of great importance; that much was immediately clear. His ermine-trimmed robe, a luxurious umber velvet, covered his broad shoulders and was fastened at the neck with a braided gold clasp. The tunic beneath was of fine quality and adorned with golden chains and pendants set with dazzling gems.

The man exuded wealth and status—a noble, surely. Moira had never seen one in person before; she’d only heard of such men from the children in her old village.

She studied him through eyes narrowed to slits. The gentleman was old—perhaps not as old as MacEachern, Beth’s grandfather, but old enough. His dark hair and beard, both neatly combed and trimmed, were streaked with grey, and though he was not fat (at least she did not think he was fat, though it was hard to tell since he was covered with so much fine clothing), he had the larger, thicker frame that many robust elders had.

The gentleman gazed down at the lass with a smile. Something in his expression made Moira pause. People were always smiling at her, as people do with children, but this man regarded her with something more than passive indulgence. It was as if the sight of her filled him with joy. And awe.

Ye must be Moira, he said, his rich voice gentle.

Her mouth slightly agape, Moira nodded. The pish-pish throbbed ferociously at her tiny bladder; she resumed her foot-to-foot shuffling.

A gae fine lass ye are. As beautiful as yer mam.

Upon saying so the man raised his eyes above Moira’s head to her mother. The tender look in his eyes was of little interest to the wee lass. Unable to hold her pish-pish anymore, she whirled around and bounded for the door.

Mama, I have to tiddle, she called over her shoulder before she fled for the hills.

A deep, throaty chuckle followed her.

Out of sight of the dwelling, she crouched in the scrub and relieved herself. As she stared blankly ahead, relishing the glorious sensation of her rapidly emptying bladder, the same dragonfly fluttered past her in erratic bursts of flight.

I’ll get ye next time, she vowed. I canna catch ye right now, though. I’m busy.

Teasing her, the dragonfly flew closer before rising high in the air and out of sight. Moira sighed regretfully. Such a handsome dragonfly he’d been, too.

Finished with her personal needs, she traipsed back to the hut. The thought of entering again was not particularly appealing. The gentleman had been kind, to be sure, but something about the way he looked at her made Moira uncomfortable.

Like he knew her, though she did not know him.

Instead, she stooped beneath the only window at the rear of the dwelling and seated herself on the grass. Her mother and the gentleman were talking, and from her position below the window, Moira could hear them well enough.

John, I dinna ken about this, came her mother’s melodic voice.

Hush, love. Ye’re here now.

Nay, this isna right. I should go home.

"This is yer home, sweetling. Wi’ me."

There was a gap of silence, and then something uttered in a low, muffled tone, which Moira couldn’t hear. Then the gentleman spoke again.

"Lilian, I’d marry ye this instant if I could. Ye ken that. But—"

"But ye’ve a wife."

Och, dinna be that way. I have ye now, isna that enough? We’ve a beautiful, bonnie daughter together, and God willing, we’ll have more children.

John, I—

And I’ll recognize each and every one of them, I promise ye. Stay. This is yer home. Ye’ll never want for anything.

Another pause followed, and then the sound of footsteps on the grass outside. Moira glanced over her shoulder to find her mother approaching.

Lilian crouched beside her daughter. Her cheeks were even more flushed, and there was a reckless, almost daring glint in her amber eyes. Her plait had been pulled loose and her locks caressed the contours of her face and neck. Moira gasped, enchanted by her mother’s unprecedented beauty.

Will ye go play in the hills for a while, love? Lilian brushed her fingertip over her daughter’s cheek. Why dinna ye go to the village for a while? See if Niall is about.

Yes, Mama. Obediently, Moira stood and trudged away in the direction of the village.

Stay away from the brae, Lilian called after her.

Moira didn’t much feel like going to the village to play with her new friend Niall, the local brewer’s son, nor to the brae whether she was permitted or not. She didn’t much feel like doing anything, in fact. So she curled up in the heather a short distance away.

She did not understand her mother’s reason for sending her away, but instinctively she knew she must not return any time soon.

Overhead, large, fluffy clouds raced across the sky, casting fast-moving shadows onto the green and violet hills below. Moira watched them, following each patch of shadow until it went beyond her line of sight.

Eventually she dozed off.

One

Moray, Scottish Highlands, 1455

The brittle crunch of hooves on gravel echoed off the stone walls of the bailey, announcing the party of travelers that charged through the gatehouse of Glendalough Castle. Leading the procession was Lord Edward Douglas, Earl of Albermarle, whose arrival had been expected.

The earl was a familiar sight at Glendalough, for not only was he kin to John Douglas, Earl of Kildrummond, but Lord Albermarle’s lands of Kinross nestled Kildrummond on its northern border.

A flurry of activity stirred within the bailey. A flock of ghillies, who had been sent to the cobbled courtyard to receive the earl, hastened forward to take the horses’ reins. Servants streamed from the castle to unload the travelers’ trunks and other belongings from the single carriage that followed.

How is he? inquired Lord Albermarle of the ghillie that came to take his gelding.

Lord Kildrummond is rather poorly today, yer Lordship, the boy answered with a voice that was in the awkward, crackling middle ground between child and man.

I am sorry to hear it. Perhaps I should see him on the morrow; let him rest this night.

Oh, nay, my lord. His Lordship were quite insistent ye be shown to his bedchamber as soon as ye’d arrived. If yer Lordship be willing, that is.

His bed chamber? Lord Albermarle raised his heavy, dark eyebrows. "I hadna realized he were that poorly."

Aye, my lord. He is abed more often than no’ these days.

Lord Albermarle pursed his lips, concerned by this unanticipated news. He’ll no’ thank me if I dinna visit him now, the stubborn old ram, he murmured to himself. Then to the ghillie he instructed, Have my men’s horses seen to, aye?

Certainly, my lord. The boy bowed.

Lord Albermarle entered the castle, sweeping importantly through its hallways and passages on his way to the keep. Glendalough was not a large fortress by any means, but neither was it small. Lord Albermarle had admired it ever since he was a young lad. Many a time had he run amok in this castle when his father had taken him along for a visit. It had a certain, indefinable charm to it.

Glendalough, as well as the earldom of Kildrummond, would be his one day—and by what the ghillie had told him, it looked as though that day might be sooner than he’d expected. Lord Kildrummond and his wife, Lady Glinis, had not produced any children from their union. As the earl’s next closest kinsman, the title and the lands would pass to Lord Albermarle.

Approaching the heavy, oaken door of Lord Kildrummond’s bedchamber, Lord Albermarle rapped soundly.

Aye, come, called a gentle, feminine voice from within. Lady Glinis, the earl’s wife of six-and-twenty years.

Pushing aside the door, Lord Albermarle stepped through to the grand chamber. His wide, stately shoulders barely made the width of the threshold.

Within, Lord Kildrummond was propped up in his bed and wrapped snugly in furs. A large fire blazed in the hearth, making the room so warm that Lord Albermarle was forced to remove his fur-lined cloak lest he drown in perspiration. He’d been chilled by the brisk, mid-March air on his ride and had been eager to warm himself, but the heat of this room was too much for any man in good health.

Lord Kildrummond was obviously not in good health. He’d withered since Lord Albermarle had seen him last. His face was gaunt, and deep shadows smudged the pale skin beneath his eyes. A man who had never looked his seventy-odd years before, the earl looked every one of them now. And more. It pained Lord Albermarle to see his once strong, virile kinsman so diminished.

Glinis Douglas, Lady Kildrummond, was seated in a cushioned armchair pulled to his bedside. Born of the Ramsay clan, the lady had the fine, regal bones and dark, silky tresses that were a common feature among her kinsmen. Her emerald velvet surcoate illuminated her delicate complexion and onyx eyes, and though she appeared somewhat drawn (owing to her husband’s illness, no doubt), she was still breathtaking.

Well then, John, how be ye this fine day? Lord Albermarle enquired cheerfully. Only, the lad that received me in yer bailey said ye were poorly.

Lord Kildrummond smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, but was overcome by a wet, rattling cough.

I am no’ so poorly I canna have a visit wi’ my closest kinsman, he declared when his cough passed.

Ye should be resting, Lady Glinis put in.

Lady Kildrummond, Lord Albermarle addressed her, bowing, ye’re lovelier every time I have the pleasure of seeing ye. If ye’re no’ careful, ye’ll be tried for conjuring, for no woman can be so beautiful wi’out possessing the powers of a witch.

Such flattery, Lady Glinis returned playfully. I’d advise ye be careful wi’ yer attentions, my lord, lest I tell yer Rosamund that her husband’s a shameless flirt. Nay, I am haggard, and ye well ken it.

Haggard my eye, Lord Kildrummond snorted. Ye behave as though ye’ve aged twenty years since my illness. Ye’re only one-and-forty, and ye’re as beautiful as the day I married ye.

The earl’s flattery surprised both of his companions, for he was not a man to praise his wife often. His flattery was reserved for his beloved Lilian, dead these two years past. The earl had taken the woman as mistress shortly after it was discovered that Lady Glinis, then a young bride of fifteen tender years, could not sire an heir.

I thank ye, my lord, Lady Glinis replied, unsure of how to receive her husband’s compliment. A glance to Lord Albermarle confirmed they shared the same thought: the earl was growing softhearted in these, his ending days.

Perhaps I should come back later when ye’ve had a rest, Lord Albermarle offered. My men and I plan to enjoy yer hospitality at least a few nights; I willna be returning to Glen Craggan immediately.

That would be kind of ye, Lady Glinis said.

Ye’ll stay where ye are, Lord Kildrummond objected. What I must speak wi’ ye about canna wait. It may take some time to orchestrate, and I’d rather go to my grave knowing it’s been seen to.

Lord Albermarle flashed a lopsided, indulgent grin at his kinsman. To Lady Glinis he whispered conspiratorially, We’d best no’ distress the old man, my lady. If I’m to believe him, he has one scraggly leg in the grave already.

I do—as good as, anyway. Now, leave us be, wife. I’d discuss wi’ his Lordship in private.

Tossing her hands in defeat, Lady Glinis gave a long-suffering sigh. Be it so then. I’ll take my leave, my lords. To Lord Albermarle she added, Do send someone to fetch me if he requires anything.

Once she departed the chamber, Lord Albermarle took her chair, adjusting its position to accommodate his larger legs.

She’s devoted to ye, John, he noted. The word at Glen Craggan is that she’s attended ye faithfully since ye first took ill. That’s a fine woman ye’ve wed.

Lord Kildrummond shrugged his frail shoulders, and his lined face reflected a twinge of regret. Aye, I ken it. She’s been handed a difficult lot in life, yet she’s weathered it wi’ grace and dignity.

She’ll always have a home here at Glendalough. I promise ye that.

At this, the old earl’s expression turned guilty. Averting his eyes, he cleared his throat and pushed himself straighter against the pillows. Well, er, that is what I wish to speak wi’ ye about, Edward.

Lady Glinis?

Nay…Glendalough.

What about Glendalough? Ye dinna owe the Crown on the estate, d’ye? I’ll no’ have to dig into my coffers to keep my inheritance, I hope.

It isna that. These being dark times, ye can understand that I’d worry about the place.

Dark times, aye. Lord Albermarle nodded reflectively. It doesna seem like he’s been gone three years, does it?

It doesna.

But it was. Three years ago their kinsman William, the eighth Earl of Douglas and chief of the vastly branched Douglas clan, had been